


Discovery

by Petyrs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 18:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petyrs/pseuds/Petyrs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa has been sneaking out after the nightly lockdown for months. But when she finds an abandoned room beneath the compound, it turns out she isn't the only one exploring the dark halls. {In response to the drabble prompt: In a post-apocalyptic future, our characters find love (Petyr x Sansa)}</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovery

Sansa had taken to wandering the halls at night, her footfalls muffled on the thick carpet. She was sick of the nightly lockdowns and ID swipes; after they had moved the women and children deeper into the compound, away from any windows ( _For your safety_ , they stressed), she could not take it anymore. So for months now she stalked the dim corridors, unaware that she was not alone in her habits.

One night she managed to wind down the maze of stairs and ramps to a subterranean basement, long boarded up and abandoned. Except as she slid between the criss-crossed boards, Sansa heard a rhythmic _thud---thud---thud_ from deep in the room. In the far corner a single torchlight blazed, illuminating the silhouette of a man whose forearm arced and fell in time with the sounds. When she had crept closer she saw that the noise was coming from the impact of small throwing stars against a paper target on the wall, spare discs arranged in a stack beside the figure.

"Lighter and easier to conceal than knives, unfortunately, but they don't require nearly the finesse," the man explained, turning to face her. Familiar green eyes sparkled in the flames. "My dear Miss Stark...I was wondering if we would find each other in our wanderings." He smirked at her then, as if he were mentioning a personal joke they shared.

"Lieutenant Baelish- I'm so sorry, I didn't know...I was trying to find my way back to my room and- " He cut her off with a dismissive wave of his hand. "And you thought going down ten flights of stairs, through no less than four _locked_ doors, and crawling into a condemned basement was the most efficient route? If you are going to break so many rules, you really must work on your fibs." The smirk blossomed into a smile and he motioned to a clean, threadbare sofa against the wall. "You've wandered a long way tonight. Please, sit."

She crossed the room to sit in the middle of the sofa, ankles crossed and straight-backed on the edge of the cushion. Baelish joined her in three quick strides, flopping onto the end of the couch with a sigh, his right arm flung across the pillows behind her neck. He grinned at her expectantly.

“I…I didn’t know you were allowed weapons, Lieutenant. I’ve never seen any of the other researchers with more than a night stick at their hip.” Although he was a ranked officer, Petyr Baelish did not patrol the perimeter, or lead reconnaissance missions, or even patrol the halls after lockdown. His soldiers were fellow scientists, waging microscopic wars in sterile white rooms buried at the center of the compound. Their only defense was a stringent protocol or, god forbid, quarantine. Traditional weapons were of no use to “the brains”, as they were known.

“Oh never fear Miss Stark, I’m _not_ allowed any weapons,” he replied cheerfully. “But what they don’t know won’t hurt them, wouldn’t you say?” He waggled his eyebrows cartoonishly, making Sansa chuckle as he twirled one of the sharpened wheels in other his hand. “Still- ,” he turned quickly and flicked the star into his much-abused target, “- one can never be too prepared. And it was a fun hobby when I was a boy.”

 _When he was a boy…_ she thought. _When he was boy there was still blue sky and wind and sun. He must hate this place more than I do._ Approaching his thirties, Baelish would have been young when the retreat into the compound happened, but still old enough to remember what had been. This is the most she has ever heard about him, the sneaking out and the target practice. They rarely spoke, the researchers rarely spoke with anyone outside their group, but Sansa would sometimes feel him looking at her from across the canteen or in general assemblies. Her friends noticed too, but she brushed off their teasing lightly. _We don’t even really know each other_ , she’d say. _Cooped up day and night in the labs, of_ course _they’re going to stare at girls when they get out. Yeah, but_ they _aren’t staring_ , was always the reply, _it’s just_ him _._ Sansa had started to simply ignore it when the teasing, and the looks, didn’t stop. It was easier that way.

“I can see the appeal,” Sansa murmured in reply, slipping deeper into her own thoughts until she felt Baelish’s fingers flip the end of her ponytail. “I’m sorry Lieutenant, I was just- “ “ _Petyr_ , please, Miss Stark. I apologize, you just looked a little too lost in there.” He drew his forearm up to tap at the back of her head.

“It happens sometimes,” she says with a laugh, blushing at her hands, folded in her lap. “And it’s Sansa, Petyr. My name is Sansa.”

“Sansa.” And something in his voice makes her look up and when she meets his eyes they have deepened and darkened. At first she thinks it’s a trick of the light shimmering on the walls, but then the hand at the back of her head threads through her hair and draws her closer and she knows it has nothing to do with the torch.

“Petyr?” Her voice is full of uncertainty, but there is a thread of something else. Desire.

“You know, I’ve known you were sneaking out for weeks. I’d take all kinds of different routes down here thinking we’d cross paths.” His voice was husky and they were sitting so close and his breath was warm on her face. The regulation spearmint toothpaste smelled sweeter, somehow, coming from him and she wondered absently what kissing him was going to taste like. “I have always… _admired_ you.”

“But, you barely know me.” His lips were _so close_ now.

“I know you sneak out at night. I know you’re cleverer than your lies make you sound. I know that all you want is to be free from this place and I can’t give you that, no one can, but I can help you _escape_.” Then her arms are twined around his neck and she is crushed against his chest and despite the urgency and the fire in his actions their kiss starts soft and sweet and chaste.

But Sansa has already succumbed to the heat of his words and her loneliness and frustration and all the stares that weren’t a trick, so she opens her mouth and runs her tongue across his lips. They part at her intrusion and the kiss deepens and he tastes so perfect but it isn’t enough.

They have the impulse at the same time, her dragging him down as he presses her into the sofa. She runs her hands down the taut muscles of his chest and back up under his shirt to tug it over his head, breaking the kiss for just a moment. In the pause Petyr pulls back, bracing himself over her, gasping. Grey-green eyes trained on her face, he slowly peels her own shirt off, quirking an eyebrow at her absent bra. “Laundry day,” Sansa breathes the words and he shakes his head, chuckling as he plants kisses along her breast bone, trailing down her stomach to nip at her hips.

Faster than she can cry out, he sits up between her legs and drags her up against his waist, fingers working at the zipper of her pants; just as quickly her jeans are discarded on the dusty floor with her underwear and Petyr is pushing her back up the couch but he isn’t following her and her eyebrows knit together in confusion just before he lowers his head and nips at her thigh and she yelps in surprise but then his tongue is on her and _oh gods_ she thinks, but all she can do is moan.

Even between her legs he looks up at her, her eyes squeezed shut at the pleasure her hands have never provided. Her fingers clench and unclench on the cushions and Petyr laces one of his hands with hers, guides her palm to his head and presses it there. Sansa wraps her fingers in the short chestnut strands wanting _more_ , wanting _deeper_ , whimpering in frustration as she feels him smirk against her thighs. But his smugness doesn’t last as she digs her nails into his scalp and drags his mouth up to hers, tasting her passion on his lips. Her hands find his waistband and she starts working at it blindly, when his hand clasps her wrist sharply.

“Don’t. Not unless-,” and this time it is Sansa who cuts Petyr off. “I want it. I want you. Yes. Now.” And that is the most sense she can make before tugging at his slacks and his hands join hers at his waist and then they are both exposed to the other, wrapped together tightly on the narrow couch. She feels him, heavy and hot against her stomach, and in this shared fever he plants a cool kiss on her lips that turns hard and possessive and then his hips draw back and hers slide up and he is pressing against her, _almost there_ , and her hands push into his back and she is finally so _full_ , so _whole_.

He grinds into her, barely pulling out, arms wrapped around and under her, not wanting to lose one inch of possible contact. She hooks her legs with his and pushes her hips harder against him feeling a tightness coiling deep in her stomach and she isn’t sure if Petyr is causing it or relieving it only that she needs him to keep going. Now his movement is punctuated with short, sharp thrusts and he pulls away just enough to brace his forehead against hers, his gaze focused and never wavering from her face.

The coil in her is wound so tight and Sansa knows it is about to all come undone but all she can do is gasp out “Petyr!” and squeeze her eyes shut against the world. “Yes, Sansa, now, now my love, now-,” is the reply and he buries his face in her neck and his thrusts are brutal but he understands and she doesn’t care, she is coming undone and coming together all at once beneath him and as she feels the first spasm deep inside her Petyr groans and grinds against her a final time, spent.

Panting in the dimming firelight, Petyr draws a hand up to Sansa’s face and brushes the sweat-dampened strands behind her ear. She mirrors the gesture on him before wrapping her fingers around his neck, drawing him down to rest on her breast.

 

* * *

 

Later, she sits curled against him, tracing swirling patterns onto his chest as he combs his fingers through her tousled hair. Their clothes still lie tangled in the dust below them.

“While we were…you said something during- -“

“A man may say anything when he is- -“

“You said ‘my love’. You called me your love.”

“I did.”

Sansa pulls Petyr closer in a silent response.

They wear the same soft smile on their faces.

**Author's Note:**

> I own none of the moneymakers. Give me your comments and your thoughts, O kind reader -grabby hands-


End file.
